


Remember Her

by SkyPiglet



Series: Life is Strange Poetry [6]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Before The Storm, F/F, Gen, PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, chloe and her ptsd, chloe price - Freeform, life is strange - Freeform, rachel amber - Freeform, traumachloe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 07:51:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16322177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyPiglet/pseuds/SkyPiglet
Summary: A prose-poem...drabble kind of thing? Chloe PoV.





	Remember Her

Maybe some of us never get to be okay.

You scrape the layers away, only find other ones hiding beneath like tree rings. When leaves change colors, it rains. When it rains, it turns to snow. And it's hard to remember the last time you felt warm.

You don't get a break from fighting, because even your dreams are fortresses to be defended-- one stray thought and it all comes back, an army of ghosts all demanding answers that you'll never have. Keep your head locked up tight, tell the voices that want you dead to fuck off at the same time that you want to hold them.

Dreams about loves who left you a little worse every time. Dreams about all the times you could have followed the river to the ocean but you didn't, because it's still your home, even if it kills you. Dreams about all the times you could've said "I love you" but you didn't.

There are nights when you fill your head with guitars and reverb and it's like the only thing that matters is your chest pounding against your ears. You're alone but at least it's something-- better to have that noise than all the silence of being forgotten.

For years you've tried to scrape away the dead skin, the dead child attached to your side like the sibling you never had. Sometimes you give her a name and sing her to sleep. Sometimes you tell her, "It's going to be okay," even when you know it won't, because at least you can be a parent to this thing. And when you're out walking alone at night, you try to show her the stars, even though the chill you have to let in hurts. You're always cold anyway.

Some people never get to be okay, but they get to be something like that. A fraction of okay, or at least a little less terrible. And that's something, isn't it? Isn't that worth fighting for? You might be half dead already, but at least you can still feed the corpse attached to you. You know she'll always love you, and that's something.


End file.
